Chapter 9
Mirella refused a financial reward.
That annoyed me.
“You carried my daughter out of a fire.”
“I was doing my job.”
“No.”
She looked at me.
“Your job does not include breaking doors while injured.”
She almost smiled.
I offered medical care permanently.
She accepted that.
Wages during recovery.
Accepted.
A house.
Refused.
Promotion.
Refused immediately.
“Why?”
“I like what I do.”
I stared.
“You like serving dinner?”
“Yes.”
Apparently rich men are not the only people allowed to enjoy their work.
Then she added:
“I don’t want everyone thinking I used Blythe to become important.”
That hurt.
Because some already whispered it.
Honora had seeded the idea before the fire.
The devoted maid.
Too close to the child.
Too familiar with old family stories.
Maybe manipulating sympathy.
I asked who said it.
Mirella shook her head.
“No.”
“Why?”
“Because then you’ll punish people for gossip.”
Reasonable.
I leaned back.
“What do you want me to do?”
“Nothing.”
I hated that answer.
Then she corrected herself.
“Actually…”
I waited.
“When people call me her replacement mother, tell them to stop.”
Simple.
“Done.”
She looked relieved.
Interesting.
Not a title.
Not money.
Definition.
She wanted her bond with Blythe without having adult fantasies attached to it.
That evening at dinner, one aunt said:
“Blythe practically has a second mother now.”
I answered:
“No.”
Conversation stopped.
“Mirella is someone Blythe trusts.”
Then I continued eating.
No speech.
No humiliation.
The distinction spread quickly.
Good.
Later Blythe asked why Mirella was not her mother.
“Because you already had a mother.”
“Mommy dead.”
“Yes.”
“Can have another?”
Children make adults fear language.
“You can love many people.”
She frowned.
“Not answer.”
Fair.
I tried again.
“If I marry someday, that person may become your stepmother.”
“Not Honora.”
“No.”
“Mirella?”
“No.”
She looked suspicious.
“You sure?”
I laughed.
“Yes.”
May you like
Mirella heard from the doorway and nearly dropped a tray.
Finally some humor returned to the house.
